Some Semblance of Peace
by Victoria Camrince
Summary: In which Zhalia can't get any sleep because Dante can't stop worrying.
**A/N** : Another apology fic, just to make sure. This one is a bit messier Shoot 'em Up, story-telling wise, because I took the prompt too literally and ran away with it. Suspension of belief is required. Virtual high-fives to anyone who gets the hidden references.

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II – _'do you ever just crave domesticity? to coming home to a partner, meld into them like you do your bed after a long day, soak your mind in the serenity of theirs like a warm bath to soothe the knots in your body, wrap yourself in their warmth and just fucking sigh from pure comfort'_

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It was a long day after training the kids. Den seemed more high-strung than usual, but Zhalia managed to make him and Harrison run laps and fine-tune their tag team moves.

She felt more tired than usual (of course, she knew why she was tired. God, did she know the reason why she was tired), and was glad when she got the string of texts from her husband, telling her to go sleep again in his house for the night.

 _I'd prefer it if you stayed there for the whole weekend_

 _Or just move in altogether_

 _Or just come with me to New York_

 _You're frowning at that last one, I can tell_

 _Worth a try though_

 _Take care. I love you._

She got to Dante's house a little after the sun has set, the fading light casting orange shadows in the house. She left her things in the room (his room, her room, their room), and took a hot bath. Zhalia didn't realize when she slept in the tub, but she wakes up when she hears Dante in the shower.

She gets up, and finds that her hands are pruny from the water. Drying herself with a fluffy white towel, she gets into her sleepwear and collapses on the bed.

The curtains are closed, and Zhalia can hear the faint hum of cars along the highway, like a comforting lullaby.

She doesn't know how many thread counts the bed has but it's made of Egyptian cotton and smells like Dante, and thus she had no problem falling asleep in no time, her back sinking into the mattress, head tilted to the left.

Just as she was about to nod off, the mattress dips on her right, and she moves over to make room only for a strong arm to gently wind around her waist, pulling her back to Dante's side of the bed.

Throwing an arm and a leg over him, she opens her eyes and sees Dante's smiling face. He kisses her forehead then, and slowly runs his hand over her back. Zhalia almost falls asleep at the sensations, but then remembers that it was their code.

She hazily opens her mind to Dante's, her Thoughtspectre a bit slow due to her lack of energy. It solidifies as soon as their minds connect, Dante's energy flowing through the both of them like a warm bonfire by the beach. They close their eyes as their mindscapes clash, and they become a _we_ , in the purest sense of the word.

 _How was your day?_ Dante's mind was always warm, and thoughts pass through fast, like a light-sensitive photograph taken of a busy street, when the cars blur into lines of light. It was slow now, like it always is when Dante's almost asleep. She settles around his mindscape, floating along the edges of his city.

 _Tiring. Den and Harrison are a bit better now at least, training-wise. Yours?_ Zhalia's mind stretches as far as the eye can see- something dangerous and admired at the same time. Her thoughts were always churning, layers upon layers, even as she sleeps. He dives into it, immerses himself in her wine-dark sea.

 _Very long. I got the samples from Clements but I'm afraid I kept spacing out._

 _Why?_

 _I've been thinking about what happened to you this morning._ Dante's presence in her mind wraps around hers like worry. She sees a passing thought- the mental image of her hunched over, heaving and her ashen face during breakfast. _Did you get a check-up?_

He feels panic, first, as Zhalia tries to stay awake. He then catches the feeling of running rivers and sharpness ( _friend, hurricane, secret-keeper_ ) as Zhalia's mindscape rolls out under him.

 _Lin went with you to the doctor. That's good then._

 _Yes, she did_. Her mindscape keeps rolling. Warmth flows through Zhalia as Dante sends her thoughts of contentment and relief, dusting through her mindscape like a warm sea breeze.

 _And? What did the doctor say?_

Zhalia abruptly breaks the mental connection, flinching from the immediate backlash and moves away from Dante. She sits up on the bed, her hand to her face as she remembers the sterile room, and the questions and the graphs and Lin's hand clenching in hers-

"Zhaal, what's wrong?" He's using her nickname. _Oh no_ , Zhalia thinks.

She takes a deep breath, trying to reassure (herself? Dante?) but can't seem to get anything past the initial panic because once she thinks about her check up, she thinks about the test. And when she thinks about the test, she thinks about the results. And when she thinks about the _results_ -

She feels her breath catch in her throat as Dante sits up and hugs her from behind, his face buried in the space between her neck and her shoulder. "Zhaal, _mio cara_ , tell me what's wrong." Her nickname and endearment, in the same sentence. _Oh_ _ **no**_ , Zhalia thinks.

She takes a deep breath, again. She's leaning back on Dante and he settles her against him. Zhalia matches her breathing with the rise and fall of Dante's chest at her back.

They stay like that for a while, in silence.

It was relaxing, and Zhalia loved Dante all the more for not pushing her further on the subject, although she can tell he's worried even without sharing a mental connection with him.

She has to tell him eventually. She thinks about extracting herself from Dante's grip to get the test results (panic rises up in her chest again, but her logical hindbrain stomps it down), but then turns to him, putting her arms around his neck.

They hug. She can feel Dante's heartbeat thudding along with hers as she opens the mental connection and purposefully leaves her mind blank and calm.

She feels Dante's frantic thoughts, mindscape wholly active, and his warm presence flitting in her mind. He keeps sending her lightstreams of information, pressing in and out of her ocean mindscape like whales breaching.

She sends a wave of calm over Dante's thoughts, dusting snow over his city mindscape. He stills then, and waits.

He runs his hand over Zhalia's back, up and down. Zhalia leans back and presses her forehead against Dante's.

Then, slowly and carefully, she adds one more participant to their mental conversation.

It was not a corporeal feeling- nothing too heavy or too light, nothing solid- but the presence is there, all the same. It wraps itself around Dante's and Zhalia's mindscapes and the overwhelming feeling of _love_ crashes through the both of them, like hitting a wall of light, pure and simple.

The hustle and bustle of Dante's mindscape halts, and the sea of Zhalia's mindscape calms. The new presence- blank but already feeling, already moving- settles in between their mental link like a soft line. It flows like the Danube, a ribbon thrown carelessly throughout their thoughts.

Dante feels a faint heartbeat, fast and thudding and real. A small thing, yet it chimes like a bell.

Time stills. It was the only thing they could hear for a few seconds, as the two- no, three- of them bask in the rush throughout their selves.

Zhalia dimly feels Dante hug her tighter, lost as she is in the new feelings in their heads.

The ribbon recedes and pulses once, twice, before it trickles away. Zhalia slowly breaks the mental connection between them both and opens her eyes, meeting Dante's amber gaze.

Dante lays down on the bed, taking Zhalia with him, still wrapped in his arms. The blankets pool around their legs, and Dante takes extra care not to crush Zhalia this time, now knowing that-

"How long?"

"Five weeks," Zhalia mumbles sleepily into his shoulder. She turns around then, spooning herself against Dante, the mental exertion of keeping the link open coupled with the physical exhaustion during the day makes for an easy sleep.

Besides, she's pregnant. If anyone has an excuse to suddenly sleep in the middle of a post-telepathy cuddle, it's her.

So she sleeps.

Dante closes his eyes and pulls her closer, breathing in the scent of home. His thoughts before he goes to sleep are filled with all the wonders and scares a father-to-be could have, but one last thing clears his thoughts before he nods off to sleep.

He's going to convince Zhalia to come in New York. Just you wait.


End file.
